


Four Times Sam and Dean Use Sex to Solve Their Problems (And One Time They Don’t)

by formalizing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Fuck Or Die, Handcuffs, Late Teens Underage, M/M, Ridiculousness Overall, Sibling Incest, Underage Only In the First Part, pseudo-threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much just what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Sam and Dean Use Sex to Solve Their Problems (And One Time They Don’t)

The first time Sam and Dean use sex to solve their problems really is the _first time_ , and it doesn’t actually fix everything. There’s still the hiding it from dad, the cutting class just to get some time alone, the washing the sheets every morning, and the fact that they may have damned their souls for eternity. But it does fix a few things.

Sam gasps against Dean’s lips with every kiss and touch, pants around his thighs and thin t-shirt pushed up under his arms as Dean maps his body in the backseat. He doesn’t argue with dad even half as much if Dean sucks his brain out through his dick before they get home. And Sam’s awkward teenage hands return the favor only too eagerly, quickly learning how to make a body other than his own ache and burn in all the right ways. Dad’s surprised when Dean stops dating (or at least sleeping with) half the female population in every town they go to, but he doesn’t ask questions.

Most importantly, both of them can stop the agonizing process of pining for one another, jerking off with the other’s name shameful and silent on their lips in the bathroom or under the sheets late at night.

It doesn’t stop Sam from leaving, but Dean doubts anything could have.

\--

Sometimes, sex gets them out of trouble at work.

The witch looks genuinely confused when her big “fuck or die” reveal doesn’t evoke any panic, shock, or even so much as a twitch from them. She reminds them they’re locked in the room. She reminds them that the lust will consume them, melting them from the inside out like a particularly horny strain of Ebola if it isn’t satisfied. She assures them that they are doomed in a smug, sure voice.

She looks even more pissed off than shocked when Dean presses Sam up against the wall without so much as a hint of uncertainty or hesitation. Their tongues retrace the familiar lines of teeth and lips as their hands quickly get rid of clothing that is beginning to feel too tight. The witch sputters wordlessly behind them, her entire plan being ruined right before her eyes. Just her luck that she managed to find probably the only pair of supernatural-hunting brothers with no problem with incest. And if she wants to watch, that’s all right; Sam’s always been a little bit of a closet exhibitionist.

She’s obviously given up hope for their imminent demise by the time Sam pushes Dean down on his back over the terribly cliché stone altar in the centre of the room, grinning when Dean drags him along with him. Sam settles himself between Dean’s thighs, biting and sucking at Dean’s lower lip as he reaches a hand between them to open Dean up for him. 

There’s a hot, red blush on her face as she half-heartedly pretends she isn’t watching them shudder through orgasm, too lost in each other to even notice the door flying open, as if it wasn’t already plainly obvious that the spell was broken. She disappears sometime before they can move beyond hard breaths and warm hands clutching at one another, and it doesn’t seem like she holds a grudge after that.

\--

It’s a great bartering chip when one of them screws up.

“Blowjob.”

No response.

“Two blowjobs?”

Sam snorts, still staring resolutely out the passenger side window. Dean hums and tries again.

“We can get out the handcuffs?”

That just gets him a roll of the eyes, and yeah, he probably should have guessed that wouldn’t work; Dean likes the handcuffs way too much.

“I don’t know what you want here, man,” Dean says, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in impatience. “I turned her down, didn’t I?”

“You took her number, Dean.”

“And I threw it in the trash outside.”

“You let her kiss you.”

“On the cheek. Grandmas kiss you on the cheek, Sam.”

Sam finally turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow. The unspoken “ _really?_ ” is all too clear.

“All right, fine. But she was only _maybe_ 21, dude, and blushing the whole time. I’m not going to turn some poor, nervous girl down flat if she gets up the courage to give me her number.”

“Are you trying to tell me that it was _noble_ of you to flirt with some girl in a bar?”

Dean winces. “Yes?”

Sam’s silent a few minutes and Dean stares straight down the road, pretending he’s not holding his breath.

“Blowjobs for a _week_ , and you better believe I’m getting the handcuffs out,” Sam finally says, lips slowly twitching toward a smile.

Dean smirks and turns the radio up in response.

\--

Sometimes, it solves their problems unexpectedly.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Sam moans, so loud that Dean’s momentarily glad they’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere, only the trees, wildlife, and dirt roads around for miles. “Just… right _there_.”

Dean bites down on Sam’s shoulder, holding his brother’s writhing hips down as he thrusts up into him, and Sam groans happily, forehead dropping to the slick surface of the hood and hands clenching where they’re still caught in Dean’s grip above his head. He meets each thrust with one of his own, back arched so that Dean hits just the right spot each time.

“That’s it,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s ear as he slows his pace, fucking him with long, deep strokes that force the air out of his lungs each time. He trails stinging nips of his teeth and soothing swipes of his tongue up and down the neck that’s offered to him, chest pressed close against Sam’s back to shield them both from the cold. “M’gonna make you come for me.”

If the way Sam growls and bucks into his hand when Dean wraps it loosely around his cock is any indication, Sam doesn’t have a problem with that.

Dean works him to the edge with clever twists of his fingers and the rough drag of his palm, well-timed thrusts heightening each sensation. Sam’s breathing harshly, each muscle in his neck standing out as he mindlessly rocks his hips, straining so hard towards release.

“Ask me for it,” Dean says, and his voice is shaky at best, torn up like it’s been run through with gravel.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam pants, half-desperate plea and half-warning. “I swear to—“

Dean thrusts in hard and fast, simultaneously clamping his fingers down around the base of Sam’s cock, and Sam groans pitifully.

“C’mon, Sam,” he says with a breathless grin, lips pressed right up against Sam’s ear. He presses Sam’s hands firmly in place against the car as Sam tugs against the hold, groaning in frustration. “Just say “pretty please” and big brother will make it all better.”

“Such a kinky asshole,” Sam mutters, but his cock gives him away when it throbs in Dean’s grip as he taunts him with “Takes one to know one, _Sammy_.” 

“Fucking _please_ ,” he grits out from between tightly clenched teeth, the threat in his voice ruined when Dean pulls back and slams forward again, making him gasp and sort of melt back onto the hood.

It only takes a few more expertly angled thrusts and a couple flicks of Dean’s wrist to have Sam shaking, face pressed into his own arm to stifle his moan as he comes. Dean fucks him slowly and surely through it, concentrating on the rasp of his brother’s breathing, the pliant feel of his wrists beneath his hand, to get him to his own peak.

His hand smacks against the hood as he tries to keep his balance after, face buried in Sam’s neck as he rides out the aftershocks, and they both tense, eyes flying open as the car, previously unwilling to so much as react to the keys in her ignition, roars to life.

Dean laughs, quiet and low against Sam’s shoulder, and he can pretty much feel Sam rolling his eyes.

“Feels like some kind of really bad threesome,” he mutters as Dean steps back to let him up, the Impala still purring beneath them, her rumbling engine warming up the metal of the hood.

“Aw, baby, y’know it’s only you for me,” Dean says with a laugh as they slip their half-soaked, muddy jeans back on.

“Sad part is that I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or the car,” Sam says, sliding into the passenger seat as Dean gets in the driver’s side.

“Should take it as a compliment,” Dean says, running one hand lovingly across the steering wheel with a grin.

Sam just laughs, and they get to the next motel without any more unscheduled stops.

\--

There are some problems too big or painful to be solved using their favorite and most effective method—“You abandoned your family!” “You sold your soul!” “You started the apocalypse!” But for the issues that involve less heaven and hell and more Dean’s dirty laundry left on the bathroom floor, or who does or does not snore/hog the covers/kick in bed, or arguments over which hunt to take next, they generally have a set method of resolving them. Still, there are the odd times when they try solving it in some non-dysfunctional fashion, ignoring their oversexed instincts to try and inject some normality into a relationship which is, by definition, not at all normal.

Dean squirms a bit, using one sock-covered foot to scratch at his ankle under his jeans. It isn’t really itchy, but the movement releases some of the restlessness tingling in his legs. Sam’s fingers pick absently at a loose thread on the hem of Dean’s shirt, cheek pressed against his chest. Dean has to concentrate on the arm he’s got wrapped around Sam’s shoulders to keep his fingers from tapping out the rhythm of the AC/DC song he’s playing in his head. Sam glances surreptitiously up at the clock on the wall, and Dean follows suit.

They’ve only been like this for six minutes now.

“Dean?” Sam says, cautiously breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Sam gestures towards them, encompassing the entirety of the _cuddling_ they seem to be doing. “I mean, first we “talked it out” and now… this?”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a sigh of relief. They disentangle themselves from each other quickly enough, putting a little space between them. “Without the sex, it’s just… weird.”

Sam nods, looking just as relieved as Dean feels, and Dean is so grateful that his brother is not actually the sensitive, cuddle-loving woman Dean tells people that he is. He doesn’t care if it means they’re both emotionally repressed, afraid to show affection in a non-sexual context, or whatever. They’re on the same page, and that’s good enough for him.

“Next time, let’s just have sex. Okay?”

Dean pulls him into a kiss, and that pretty much solves that problem.


End file.
